Lion Heart
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: In a West Country village, a group of children are entertained by the extraordinary tales of an extraordinary, but restless young man... Godric Gryffindor-centric. Pre-Hogwart founder's era. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine (of course!)

**Note: **I have no idea where this came from. I suddenly had the urge to write some pre-Hogwarts Godric and this is the result. Needless to say, no uni work was done today! Haha! XD Anyway, have a read – reviews would be much appreciated! :)

Lion Heart

"…And as I crept around the corner, wondering what foul creature had made that earth shaking roar, a blast of the fiercest flames shot towards me. I was knocked from my feet and my horse, Augustus, bolted, leaving me completely alone to tackle the beast."

A young boy, sat near the front of the gathered crowd, raised his hand, causing Godric Gryffindor to pause mid-way through his tale.

"Yes, Norbert?" he asked, forcing cheeriness.

"Is that your _flying_ horse, sir?"

"Ah, yes!" Godric puffed his chest. "Augustus is a fine Aethonan – he is a winged horse."

"Oh." Norbert frowned and scrunched up his freckled nose. "Augustus is a bit of a silly name, though, isn't it?"

"Pardon?" Godric blustered. "I think you'll find it's a fine name, young man. It means 'great', 'venerable'…"

"What's 'venerable'?"

Silence. "Well it – it means, uh – _Anyway_, shall we get on with my tale of the dragon in the cave?"

There was a chorus of excited yes's, but Norbert's squeaky voice rose above the rest. "Sir, my Mama said there _aren't_ any dragons near here! She says they live far away – far away from here."

Godric sighed. His eyes flicked briefly towards the ceiling, but when they rested once more on the young boy, they seemed to glitter with mischief. "Listen here, Norbert Wrumple," he whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially. The children edged closer. "I have links in the dragon world that you could not begin to imagine. You think dragons live in a faraway land or only in dreams? Let's just say I'm sure I could arrange a little visit to your house tonight - a visit from someone with coal black scales and breath as hot as brimstone and teeth so long they could tear – "

Several children screamed, many leaping to their feet and running from the fire-lit parlour. Norbert, however, remained where he was, his arms stubbornly folded. "I'm still not scared," he boasted.

Godric exploded with laughter. "You know, Norbert," he said, ruffling the child's hair, "you remind me of me."

The door swung open, flooding the room with light. On the threshold, stood a fair haired woman dressed in plain robes. Godric turned to her. "Oh hello, Jessy. What do you want?"

She shook her head, as if endlessly exasperated by him. "What have you been telling those children? I've got girls wailing and weeping about monsters out there. You and your tall tales, honestly…"

"Less of the 'tall', thank you very much! My tales are always true." He winked at Norbert. "I may, shall we say, embellish things, but I never ever fabricate."

Jessy appeared to be fighting off a smile. "You're a funny one, you are," she sighed. "Come on children, time to go. Yes, you too, Norbert. Your mother's waiting for you in the yard."

"But he never finished the story!" Norbert complained as he was shepherded away.

"And whose fault is that, Master Wrumple?" Godric called after him.

Once the children had gone, Jessy returned to the parlour where Godric was sat in a chair beside the dying fire. He whirled his wand with seeming carelessness, only to point it at the hearth which suddenly roared, aflame.

"You did that without saying the spell," Jessy observed, in awed tones.

Godric grinned, but his smile hid a little embarrassment. "Are you calling me a show-off, dearest sister?"

"You, a show-off?" She held a hand over her heart. "You, the teller of the boldest tales The Hollow has ever seen? Never."

Jessy was not Godric's real sister. He had no siblings. He was, in fact, the only child of the wealthy Gryffindor family of the West Country. And as the son of a prosperous pureblood family, he had all the opportunities he could want. He had the run of the manor, had been tutored since he was seven and was already a skilled duellist. Yet to the chagrin of his mother, he had no true occupation. She had attempted to bend him in many directions: suggesting he secure his future in business or perhaps go into tutoring himself. Godric could not be persuaded. He instead spent his life travelling the country – chasing dragons, duelling dark wizards in distant towns and brawling in questionable pubs. At the age of eighteen his reputation already bordered on legendary, though not in the way that his mother had hoped.

Jessy, meanwhile, was a muggle-born. She had worked as a maid for the Gryffindors since she was a child, but her appointment was one of charity rather than necessity. Unlike Godric, she was not wealthy, nor privileged. She had not been persecuted for her status as muggle-born, but her education was limited. Despite being two years older than Godric, her talents could not match his. It pained Godric to know that such a lovely girl would never have the same opportunities as him.

And yet… he did not know how to help her. He longed for the freedom of open skies and rolling countryside; The Hollow could be stifling.

"Are you okay, Godric?" she asked him, lingering at the arm of his chair. "You seem unusually quiet."

He slowly lifted his face to meet her eyes. "Jessy, I need you to tell my mother something."

As he expected, she flinched away. "Oh, Godric. Oh _no._ Tell me you're not leaving us again – you've only just got back!" To his deep alarm, her voice climbed higher until she seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I won't tell your mother again, I won't."

"Jessy – "

He reached out for her arm. She ducked away. In the soft, flickering firelight the disappointment in her expression was vividly apparent. "You know, I hear people call you 'brave' and 'bold,' and yes, I believe them. But sometimes you can be downright cowardly."

Godric exhaled heavily. He did not deny Jessy's claim. "That's human nature, my dear. I hope you think no less of me, for showing some weakness. If it makes you feel any better, I'm heading off to investigate a Common Welsh Green that's said to be terrorising a village in Wales."

Jessy made an indistinguishable noise in response, but she gently squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room.

The next morning, before dawn had risen, Godric Gryffindor was to be found striding across the yard towards the stables. Augustus, a shining chestnut stallion, raised his head and ruffled his wings at the sound of his master's arrival. Godric led the horse out of the stable and into the still-dark, cobbled courtyard. "Fancy an adventure, Gus?" he murmured, leaning his head against the horse's wide, strong neck. "Augustus _is_ a bit of a silly name, isn't it?"

Gus snorted in agreement.

As the first streaks of weak morning sunlight emerged over the West Country, the sound of hooves thumped along an empty lane. The lion-hearted man, the 'tale-teller' had departed The Hollow.


End file.
